


He's Dreaming

by XiuChen4Ever



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Battle Scenes, Blood and Violence, Chaos Inflicted On An Unsuspecting Home/Office, Children's Safety Gear Applied To Bemused Adults, Clones, Found Family, M/M, MAMA Era Powers (EXO), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rescue, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:53:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28058742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XiuChen4Ever/pseuds/XiuChen4Ever
Summary: The man Minseok keeps seeing in his dreams seems to be caught in the middle of a nightmare.
Relationships: Kim Jongdae | Chen/Kim Minseok | Xiumin
Comments: 23
Kudos: 63
Collections: EXODEUX Round 1





	He's Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Exodeux prompt ED63.
> 
> Dear prompter, thanks so much for sparking this idea in my brain. Writing for this fest was so much fun, particularly because the mod team is made of awesome. I know the tags are pretty intense, but I decided to err on the side of caution with them. This is a serious fic with some fun and goofy moments, but it's not really very dark, it's all about moving forward while respecting the past. I hope it's enjoyable, even if it's not as playful as the prompt suggested.

#  ꧁﴾֎﴿꧂

It always happens on nights when there's a storm.

The dream starts off the same way every time: the thunder rolls after Minseok into his sleep, drawing nearer as he stares up at a massive tree that seems to hold entire worlds within its branches. When the storm is directly overhead, the loudest thunderclap sends Minseok flying up into those branches, past glittering universes into a blizzard, howling wind and swirling snow obscuring everything in white.

The monochrome is pierced by some sort of futuristic laser fire, some kind of sci-fi blaster pistol shootout Minseok always seems to arrive in the middle of. He’s had the dream often enough that he knows the blue pulses come from a group of scruffy but well-disciplined soldiers, dressed in drab grays and matte blacks that blend surprisingly well into the decayed urban surroundings despite the stark white snow. They’re facing off against a squad of flashy but rag-tag guerrillas wearing mostly reds and yellows, armed with red-pulsing firearms, flamethrowers, and even some kind of laser bazooka once. 

They never acknowledge Minseok, nor does the snow or wind seem to affect him at all, like he's watching events unfold from behind glass. No flakes land on the shoulders of his pajamas, yet the snow still seems to muffle the sound around him, the action right before him yet somehow muted.

Sometimes it's an adrenaline-spiking contest, a close exchange of fire, where Minseok can see sweat drip from brows despite the weather as they dodge into and between what seem like long-abandoned buildings. Sometimes it's gut-wrenching, like when one of the blue soldiers was killed right in front of him, life gone from surprised eyes before his comrades reached him, crumbling over the prone form as blood seeped from the gray fabric of his snowsuit to stain the snow beneath in a shocking burst of color. 

Several blue soldiers had cried and wailed over the body of their fellow. Others had stoically stood guard, laser rifles in hand, as their comrades mourned. But neither the lookouts nor Minseok saw any flash of red amidst the whirling white—it was as if the guerrillas had melted into the blizzard on purpose instead of pressing their advantage, evidently satisfied with claiming a single life.

Minseok isn't sure what to feel about that. Is it respectful to allow their opponents to see to their dead? Or would it be more merciful to press the attack, taking out their opponents entirely and leaving no one behind, brokenhearted?

He's glad not to have to make such decisions.

The rainy season is hitting hard this year, so Minseok watches, night after stormy night, as this alien war plays out. He thinks both sides started with about a dozen combatants, but now the blue soldiers seem to have around nine, while the red guerrillas, whether due to their more-visible attire, their less-organized fighting style, or something else, are down to just six.

Always a fan of order over chaos, Minseok had imagined himself to align with the blue soldiers at first, but watching the precision maneuvers pick off the red guerrillas one by one has entirely shifted his sympathies. He has no background information, no clue as to why the two groups seek to annihilate each other, but it no longer seems like the blue side is simply putting down some sort of rebellion, looking to restore the peace, protect territory. It seems more like a pack of wolves is methodically hunting down a band of coyotes, superior tactics more than a match for the guerrillas' increased firepower. 

It's no longer anything like a fair fight. Nor do the soldiers seem to be protecting anyone, defending some resource or outpost. They ruthlessly advance every time the guerrillas are forced to give ground, marching forward with easy, confident strides as if victory is inevitable and assured. 

It probably is, and Minseok doesn't want to watch anymore. 

Even in sports games, it's much more engaging if the contest is close, if the win comes down to a decisive goal (or blocking thereof) in the last minutes. There's no suspense when one side delivers a blowout, especially when the losing team grows more and more fatigued as their defensive efforts repeatedly fail.

It's even more stomach-turning to witness when the contest is measured in lives instead of points, even if these lives aren't actually human, aren't actually even  _ real. _ Minseok’s not sure if it's some new spice used by his favorite take-out place or whether his subconscious is trying to tell him he needs some kind of therapy, but he's beginning to almost dread falling asleep if his dreams are gonna keep being like this.

#  ꧁﴾֎﴿꧂

"Maybe play Disney movies in the background as you fall asleep," his best friend suggests one day at work in response to Minseok’s explanation for his perpetually-tired eyes. Kyungsoo is always rock-steady in the face of the unexpected, never letting life's challenges knock him too far off course. It's a trait that makes him an excellent architect, able to weather demanding clients without panicking, and it also means he generally gives solid, practical advice.

"Tried that," Minseok sighs. "I just ended up with snowy laser fights to a soundtrack of Jafar's creepy-ass laughter."

"Snowy? Maybe try  _ Frozen." _

"No, thanks—I don't think I can stomach watching some poor guy bleed out while a teenager sings about letting go."

Kyungsoo winces, collecting the neatly collated Materials Availability reports from the printer. "Yeah, maybe not."

"What about hypnosis?"

Minseok looks up from the design presentation board he's preparing, fingers still pressing the laminate samples against the repositionable adhesive. His gaze meets that of their newest colleague, a gentle, hard-working Chinese man whose easygoing nature makes him a welcome addition both at work and at the bar afterwards.

"I dunno, Yixing—can someone really be hypnotized into having nicer dreams?"

Yixing shrugs, pouring himself the last of the coffee and cementing himself further in Minseok’s good graces by immediately brewing a new pot.

"It might be worth a try—we work long enough hours, it's important to get good rest."

Kyungsoo snorts. "Dude, you've literally worked until you passed out."

"Which is how I know!" Yixing laughs over the percolator's gurgle. "You can't work on scale models from a hospital bed."

"Fair point, but I don't want some bearded hippie with a swinging pocket watch leaning over my bed."

Yixing’s dimples are on full display. "Don't be silly, hyung. There's hypnotic meditation videos all over YouTube. There's gotta be at least a few aimed at good dreams."

"Oh, I think I've seen those, for lucid dreams, at least," Kyungsoo says, lifting strong brows at Minseok. "You're supposed to play them as you're falling asleep, and then you can supposedly take control of what you dream about."

Minseok shrugs, applying sticky dots to cardstock-framed fabric swatches. "You're right—seems worth a try."

#  ꧁﴾֎﴿꧂

Minseok wades through a bunch of guided meditation and whispered affirmation videos to find a likely candidate, but he eventually comes up with a lucid-dreaming trigger video posted by an account called ShimChangMagic. Minseok’s not at all sure about the purported 'binaural beats' meant to stimulate some kind of deep brain waves or whatever, but the guy has a pleasant voice and the background music is a soothing contrast to the heavy rain outside the window above his bed. It's gotta be better than Jafar and his damn parrot.

Minseok tucks himself in as usual, wireless earbuds secured beneath a workout sweatband worn low over his ears. He lets this ChangMagic guy lead him through some breathing and relaxation exercises, and at least can appreciate the way he feels melted into his bed after the preliminary meditation.

"Your dreams are your playground," ChangMagic intones over the low dissonance of the binaural thrumming. "Your subconscious is the portal, but lucidity is the key."

Thunder rumbles overhead, and then Minseok is staring up through branches that cradle infinity.

"Your brain is asleep, but your mind is awake. Your consciousness is in control."

A thunderclap sends Minseok flying, up, up, as universes swirl around him.

"You are the architect of your dream experience. You are entirely  _ aware." _

What Minseok's aware of is the blizzard's desperate howl, and the way the bitter wind bites into his scarcely protected skin.

_ No, _ Minseok thinks.  _ This isn't right. I'm not supposed to be cold. _

Winter's teeth pass right through him at the realization. No longer needing to shiver, Minseok brushes snow from his silk pajamas. No further flakes accumulate on his hair or clothing, nor do his bare feet slip on the pleasantly cool surface. 

_ That's better. _

But then it isn't better anymore, at least not for the trio of panicked guerrillas that vault over the snow-covered stonework nearby, wedging themselves into cracks and crevices just before a glowing blue projectile impacts the ruined structure. Shards of ice and stone are sent flying, making Minseok duck instinctively when a few chunks head his way. As soon as the shrapnel settles, the guerrillas make a break for a nearby storm drain. One of them is clearly struggling, being half-dragged by his taller companions, stumbling whenever he tries to put weight on his left leg. 

A dark helmeted head appears over the top of the frozen ruins, producing a shout that's immediately ripped away by a swirl of snow. It's followed by another and then two more, exchanging inaccurate fire with the fleeing trio. The storm is evidently making it difficult to aim, much to Minseok’s initial relief—until a fifth soldier crests the boulders, shoulder whipping back before he chucks some shrieking blue missile at the guerrillas.

It explodes at their backs in a blinding flash of neon. Minseok yells as the injured man screams.

His companions, red and yellow jackets now darkened with blood in several places, try to haul their comrade onward, but he swats their hands away.

"Go!" Minseok hears him yell. "Fucking leave me and  _ go!" _

"Hyung!" one of the taller guerrillas cries, and Minseok’s gut twists. "We're not abandoning you."

"You fucking are, 'cause that's a goddamn order."

"No," the other sobs, but then they both drop their burden, limbs spasming, right before another blue missile explodes above them.

They all curl into reflexive balls, but then the shorter man is swinging the butt of his rifle at the other two.

"Fucking  _ go," _ he commands, and the less-bloody one drags the sobbing one away from their fallen companion.

They disappear into the culvert as the blue soldiers advance, no longer in any sort of hurry. The guerrilla on the ground shoots arcs of red lightning at them from his rifle, but the plasma is absorbed harmlessly by transparent blue shields. The soldiers stroll through the snow towards their helpless target, and Minseok can't bear to watch the inevitable slaughter. 

_ Then do something! _ he screams at himself.  _ You're supposed to be in control! _

Minseok strides forward through the swirling snow, shooting his hand out as if to shield the fallen man from his would-be killers. The snow reacts as if he’d shoved a paddle into a pond, sweeping out ahead of his arm to pelt into the soldiers' faces. Swallowing his surprise, Minseok swings his arm again, this time with force and purpose. A smile touches his lips when the blizzard throws a veritable wall of snow at the oncoming soldiers, knocking them to their knees and preventing them from rising.

The guerilla is gaping at Minseok, propped up on bloody elbows, rifle clutched by tattered black gloves. 

'Xiümin?" he squeaks. "You're dead. I saw you die. They killed you, they…" He swallows a sob.

"I'm not Xiümin," Minseok asserts, "and I'm not dead. But you're going to be, if we don't get you out of here."

"I saw you die," the guerrilla says again. "You're another clone." He makes as if to point the rifle at him, but Minseok shakes his head. 

"I'm not a clone, and I'm helping you, you dummy," he huffs, shoving the rifle barrel aside as he crouches beside the injured man. "Let's get you back to your friends. They have a medic somewhere, right?"

The guerilla shakes his head, wincing when Minseok hauls him upright. "Lăy was the first one they took out."

Minseok frowns, bracing the guerrilla's good arm across his shoulders while grabbing him around the waist. "That seems like it's gotta be against the Geneva Convention, targeting a medic."

"The what?" The guerrilla's brows bow up toward the middle of his forehead. This close, Minseok can see that one of his eyes is a startling blue, surrounded by frosted white lashes. "There are no conventions except 'get them before they get you.' This is war."

"Which war?"

The guerilla shrugs as best as one can when one is being manhandled over uneven, slippery terrain.  _ "The _ war."

Minseok frowns, gaze bouncing from the pair of boot prints they're following to the unfamiliar architecture around him. He's studied every construction style to ever exist, but he's never seen anything like the bombed-out buildings around them. 

"What city was this?" 

"City?"

"Yeah—it sure doesn't look like anywhere in Korea."

"Koriah?"

Minseok gives the guy a sharp side-eye. "Korea. You know, like we're speaking Korean right now?"

The guerrilla's furrowed brow could be really rather cute, if he were giving Minseok this baffled look over a bar table somewhere instead of through bloody, frozen fringe.

"Look, Xiümin—"

"I'm Minseok."

A frown. "Er, Min… It's not that I'm ungrateful that you came strolling out of the snow like some untouchable avenging spirit, even if I'm fairly sure you're a hypothermic hallucination carrying me off to the icy embrace of death. I mean, you look and sound exactly like our Xiü, and I fucking miss him like my own lungs, so fine, haul me off to wherever he is. But if you're my hallucination, shouldn't you know everything I do? What kind of valkyrie stand-in wouldn't know what's going on?"

Minseok huffs, the closest he can get to a laugh under such a load. "As far as I'm concerned, you're in  _ my _ dream—shouldn't you be making more sense to me? And if this is a dream, why are you so damn heavy?"

"What the fuck, MinMin?" The guerrilla whines. "You’re supposed to be sweetly taking me to the afterlife, not calling me fat."

Minseok lifts a brow. "MinMin?"

"ChënChën!"

A trio of guerrillas bursts from the storm drain, two of them with rifles at the ready, one still covered in blood. The shortest guy charges toward them, silvery fringe falling over steely eyes beneath his helmet.

"Baëk," Minseok’s guerrilla answers. "Shit—am I actually still alive?" His fingers dig sharply into Minseok’s shoulder as he rolls wide, two tone eyes to his face. "Min, don't leave me again."

"I never left you to begin with," Minseok says, shooting glances at the two taller guerrillas aiming rifles at him. "I'm on your side—I just want to help."

"Xiümin?"

Minseok shakes his head at the silver-haired guy his guerrilla had called  _ Baëk. _ "I'm just Minseok. Do I really look so much like your fallen comrade that you can't tell me apart?"

Baëk narrows his gray-blue eyes. "Dude, we're all fucking clones, too. You think you can just infiltrate our base by playing on Chën's grief? That's low, even for the RF."

"RF?"

"Playing dumb might have snowed poor Chënny, but the rest of us aren't love-blind. You're not fooling—"

"Uh, guys?" Minseok’s guerrilla—Chën?—interrupts. "Can we argue over who's on what side after somebody's set my goddamn leg?"

"Fuck." Baëk ducks under Chën's other arm, helping Minseok haul him towards the culvert. He shoots Minseok a glare. "If you're some kind of Trojan—"

"He's not. Min would never."

_ “Our _ Min would never.  _ He’s _ not our Min.”

“Well, he’s not  _ their _ Min. They still have their Min.” This last leaves Chën's sneer-curled lips in a bitter mumble.

“Guys, I’m just my own Min. Just Minseok. I’m not anyone’s clone.”

“You are,” Baëk informs him as they duck through a low opening into a wider cement side tunnel, taking another half-dozen paces before lowering Chën to a dirty pallet on the concave floor. He straightens up to slide a flinty gaze down to Minseok's bare feet and then back up to meet his eyes. “You may not know it, but you are. We all are. If you’re not one of them, then you’re either working for them, or you’re no longer useful to them, due to be ‘recycled’ just like the rest of us before we made a break for it.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” Minseok sputters. “You didn’t ask to be clones! They can’t just kill you—you still have rights, you’re still  _ human—” _

A sudden flash catches Minseok's eye, and his jaw drops when he realizes it's fire jumping from the tallest one’s fingertips. The pink-haired guy crouches, using the flame to ignite a scraped-together pile of scrawny branches and various debris. Minseok swallows his surprise and suppresses a cough—the pile gives off foul-smelling smoke as the fire takes hold. But then a gentle breeze both encourages the flames and disperses the smoke, allowing the group to breathe freely and move closer to the source of warmth, except of course for the injured man on the pallet. Minseok doesn’t have any outerwear to spare, but he covers Chën with nearby scraps of blankets, ignoring the crustiness and dustiness of the fabric.

Chën smiles up at him, looking way too cute for a possibly-supernatural warrior in a torn, heavily-stained outfit Minseok only knows is supposed to be red because he’d seen it in better condition in previous dreams. “Thanks, hyung,” he says. “Don’t let Baëkhyun’s growling fool you—he’s happy to have you back, even if you’re not really  _ our _ Min. I mean, you’re ours now, right?”

“I—sure,” Minseok says, because he’s a sucker and this is a dream and that smile is really pretty.

“Right. So, that’s Chanyeøl—” he gestures to the tall guy who’d lit the fire. “—the green-haired one’s Kāi, our oversized maknae keeping us from choking on smoke over there is Sehůn, and the redhead guarding the door is our leader, Suhø.”

Minseok trades perfunctory half-bows with each of the guerillas as they’re named, but remains crouched at Chën’s side to keep out of the way of their methodical bustling. The tunnel-turned-bunker isn’t that big nor at all organized, just piles of equipment stacked around heaps of bedding. He’s almost grateful that the flickering firelight doesn’t allow him to see the filth around him properly, fingers itching to tidy and scrub. He shakes his head at his subconscious—shouldn’t his dream be more sanitary? 

When a call of ‘all clear' echoes through the cramped space, Baëkhyun snaps his fingers, and a trio of gently-glowing orbs blinks into existence, floating above their heads. One drifts closer to Chën, and even as Minseok winces at the state of the bed and its occupant, he supposes the illumination will make it much easier to treat Chën's injury.

Chën's leg is definitely broken. Minseok is an architect, not a doctor, but even he knows it's not supposed to bend like that. Baëkhyun seems to know this, too, because he grimaces down at the twisted limb.

"I'm totally fucked, huh?" Chën sighs. "Shoulda just left me there. Now I'm just gonna slow you all down until I finally kick off from some horrible infection or something."

"We did leave you there," Kāi mumbles.  _ "He _ saved you."

"Yeah, you can’t let our hyung die now after you saved him like that," Sehůn says. "That would just be cruel."

They all look at Minseok expectantly. He feels himself go red under the scrutiny. 

"What do you want  _ me _ to do, exactly?" he sputters. "I'm not a medic."

"You're a cryomancer, though," Suhø says as he runs probing hands over Chën’s leg. "At least help him with the swelling."

"A cryo-what now?"

Baëkhyun rolls his eyes at Minseok’s questioning look.

"Xiümin-hyung was way too smart for us to buy your faux-stupidity ploy. Just ice his leg already while we try to come up with a splint."

Minseok sighs, making to stand up and head back out into the blizzard. But Chën catches his hand, twining their fingers together. 

"Where are you going, hyung?"

"To get some ice?"

"Don’t leave me. Just make some."

"Make some?"

"Yeah, just—" Chën gestures over his injured leg with his free hand, making whooshing noises.

Minseok scoffs. "I’m really not a clone of your comrade," he laughs. "I can't just—" he mimics Chën's faux-spraying of ice onto his injury.

Then he stifles a yelp as snow shoots from his fingertips to encase the broken limb.

Chën yelps, too, as the chill coats his injury, squeezing Minseok’s hand hard enough to hurt. But then he sighs, relaxing against Minseok’s shoulder.

"Thanks, hyung."

"Uh. You're welcome? But why are you calling me hyung?"

The way Chën’s brows curve up towards the center of his forehead is absolutely adorable. “Sorry. I mean. You’re older—even if you were just cloned, your cell lines are older than mine, so. Plus you keep taking care of me. But if you don’t think we’re close enough…”

Suhø chooses this moment to yank Chën’s leg into alignment. Chën screams, clutching at Minseok, tears springing from his eyes, and Minseok’s protective instincts have him cradling Chën’s torso to his chest firmly, murmuring low in his ear.

“You’re okay—you’ll be all right. I’ll be your hyung as long as you need me.”

“Forever,” Chën almost whispers, curving into Minseok’s embrace as his comrades splint and wrap his leg. “Don’t disappear.”

Minseok just pets Chën’s matted hair and holds him tightly until the first aid is done. What else can he do, when he could wake up at any time? Though, wouldn’t that mean Chën and his comrades would actually be the ones to disappear? If he woke up right now, would Minseok find himself right back in this moment on the next stormy night?

Probably not, he decides, seeing as he hasn’t yet simply resumed the action where he’d left the dream before. More than a single day seemed to pass between the ‘episodes’ he’d dreamed previously, which starts to seem rather odd. Shouldn’t dreams be more repetitive? Less linear? Less detailed? He doesn’t remember any other dream where he could count someone’s eyelashes, feel a stray tear soak through the silk over his shoulder, hear each shuddering breath and the click of Chën’s teeth as his comrades tighten the makeshift brace as best they can.

He can also feel the very earth shake, and evidently so can everyone else, since they all lift their eyes to the ceiling as one.

“Fuck,” Suhø says. “I was afraid of that—they know where we are. They’ll bomb us out, or use nerve gas, or—”

“No, they won’t,” Minseok decides. “This is my dream, and I refuse to watch them slaughter you. I’m getting you out of here, somewhere safe, somewhere with a hospital and proper showers and food and beds.”

Kāi snorts. “You’re definitely dreaming, alright.”

“I am,” Minseok insists, disentangling himself from Chën and standing up. “Uh. I guess I’ll just imagine you all at my place since I know I can picture it as clearly as this—you could call an ambulance or something from there.”

The tunnel shakes again, more violently this time, shaking dust loose from the ceiling and little panicked noises from several throats. Minseok grits his teeth, marching over to where the tunnel dead-ends into a wall of cement . “If I can just make stuff up, like ice for Chën’s leg, then I should be able to just—”

Minseok gestures at the wall, tracing out a big circle and spiralling his arm inward like a generic isekai wormhole. He’s unsurprised when a swirling, icy vortex appears in the wall, but the men around him gasp. Minseok grins, gesturing proudly. “So, gentlemen, welcome to my home, I guess. I hope, at least.”

Kāi is the first one to approach Minseok’s ‘gate,’ cautiously poking his left hand, then his forearm, into the swirling snow. He looks back at the group. “If we stay here, Suhø-hyung, what are the chances we survive?”

“Slim to none.”

Kāi shrugs. “Then what do we have to lose?” He pivots to drop a bow in Minseok’s direction, then tosses a salute at his comrades. “Just in case—it’s been an honor.”

The other five salute back, and with one last rakish smile, Kāi steps into the vortex.

It’s rather anticlimactic, really—there’s no glowy lights or whooshy sounds or anything. He’s just simply gone, swallowed by swirling snow, and after a few moments, Sehůn strides forwards.

“Yeah, okay, even if that was him going off to his death, it still looked a hell of a lot less painful than being crushed beneath rubble or blown to smithereens.”

He mimics Kāi’s bow-and-salute maneuvers, then gives Suhø a quiet smile. “Hyung. You’ve always done your best for us. So even if this is goodbye, don’t feel guilty, okay? You’re the best leader, and I love you.”

“Love you, too, Hůnnie.”

No sooner has Sehůn disappeared, then Suhø is prodding Baëkhyun and Chanyeøl toward the gate. Chanyeøl ultra-casually reaches for Baëkhyun’s hand as they approach, causing the silver-haired guy to roll his eyes even as he smiles. “Don’t worry, big guy—I’ll protect you.”

Chanyeøl looks comically offended, blue eyes wide. “What? I’m protecting  _ you.” _

“Sure you are.” Baëkhyun turns to Minseok. “I’m going to be so pissed when this thing spits us out back in the RF labs or something, but on the off-chance you aren’t some planted traitor, thanks, I guess.”

Minseok smiles. “To be completely honest, I only  _ think  _ I know where you’ll end up. So maybe hold your thanks until we find out for sure what’s on the other side.”

“Deal,” Baëkhyun says, then leads Chanyeøl through.

Suhø gestures for Chën to go next, and the injured man struggles to regain his feet. Minseok’s at his side in seconds, wrapping an arm around a surprisingly tiny waist to support the guy he still strangely thinks of as  _ his _ guerrilla.

“You go, Suhø—we’ll follow right after. I’m half-afraid the portal will close right after I step in, so.”

With a nod and a smart salute, Suhø steps through. Minseok and Chën are only seconds behind.

The snow swirls around them, cold enough to steal Minseok’s breath. He can feel Chën tighten his grip on his shoulder, so he pulls the guy a little closer as the opening strains of TVXQ’s Rising Sun fill his ears. He takes another step, and another, and then he’s opening his eyes with a groan, fumbling for the blaring phone on his nightstand.

He shuts off his alarm via muscle memory, then sighs into the semi-darkness. At least he’d tried to help the rag-tag group—will they be back in battle again the next time there’s a storm? Minseok’s rather reluctant to find out. It would crush him to find their group reduced to five, especially now that he's met the odd-eyed boy whose once-red jacket would no longer be in evidence. As it is, he can at least imagine Chën and his comrades ended up somewhere safe.

Scrubbing a hand over his eyes, Minseok hauls himself up out of his warm, cozy bed—and promptly trips over some knee-high obstacle that sends him crashing to the hardwood.

“Ow,” a sleepy voice complains.

Minseok is suddenly wide awake.

His phone is still in his hand, and he flicks the flashlight on as he scrambles to his feet, fighting down panic. Someone broke in, someone’s in his room—

Six someones, actually, the light reveals. Six groaning, squinting someones, with torn, bloody outfits and outlandish hair colors.

“Oh,” says the green-haired guy he tripped over, blinking big turquoise eyes up at him sleepily. “Hi, Min-hyung. Uh. Did you say something about food?”

#  ꧁﴾֎﴿꧂

For the first time since he’d been hired six years ago, Minseok is late for work.

He’d at least called in to tell them that he had to take a friend to the hospital, and, given his exemplary attendance record, his boss was inclined to be forgiving of a one-time event. He even offered to grant him an entire personal day, but Minseok had declined.

He has no idea what else to do with his sudden, surreal houseguests than bring them into a structured, familiar, rational environment full of rational people, to prove to himself he isn’t  _ still _ dreaming, even though the hospital staff had no problem seeing and interacting with the unusual group.

Minseok had at least gotten them showered and dressed in less-flamboyant outfits, thanking his penchant for oversized hoodies in the case of the three tall, broad-shouldered guys. Minseok’s stretchiest track pants are still awkwardly short and tight on them, and the various unnatural hair and eye colors still stand out in a crowd, but they at least look like avant-garde college kids or something instead of haggard otherworldly warriors.

Kāi and Sehůn had wanted to stay and sleep in Minseok’s ‘nice, safe bunker’ while Chën had his leg properly treated, but Suhø was having none of it.

“We all have injuries of one kind or another—if Min-hyung knows where to find a medic, we should all be treated.”

He’d used his firm-leader voice, and the maknaes had quickly capitulated.

There had been a brief, panicky rebellion when the group had seen the doctors in white coats, but most of the staff were actually wearing scrubs of some kind, which, along with the presence of parents with children, had helped reassure them that the hospital wasn’t an ‘RF clinic’ but somewhere they’d actually be taken care of.

Minseok always wakes up early enough for a gym workout and a run, then a leisurely shower and breakfast (including several long moments just savoring his morning coffee). He doesn’t get any of that this morning, but the extra time means he’s only an hour late when he finally slinks into the office, leading half a dozen rather bandaged men.

Kyungsoo’s already-round eyes become perfect circles.

“Boss said it was  _ one _ friend, hyung—what did you do, swoop in to the scene of a whole car accident or something to play Superman?”

“I wish,” Minseok says, gesturing for the group of refugee dream warriors to stop gaping at his coworkers and settle around the pair of small tables near the kitchenette. “I honestly have no idea how they got here—I mean, I  _ meant _ to bring them home but it was supposed to be a dream, but they’re actually here and actually injured and actually hungry and they ate my ramyun packets  _ dry, _ Kyungsoo,  _ all _ of them, and I still want to help them, I guess, but I have no idea what to do with them now that their immediate physical needs have been met. Can we just convince the boss they're interns or something?”

"Interns?" Yixing repeats, blinking repeatedly at the group invading their lunch area.

Minseok winces. "I'm open to suggestions. But they showed up after I followed  _ your _ advice, so the pair of you are going to help me deal with the lot of them.”

“Okay.” Yixing smiles. “Should I start boiling water to make actual cooked ramyun, or are they full now?”

Minseok glances over his shoulder. Kāi and Chën had apparently found the packets of crisps, and are now stabbing them open with the biggest knife in the drawer. Baëkhyun has the other two knives, flimsy little plastic-handled fruit knives that he’s now flipping around his fingers fast enough to make the blades flash in the sunlight angling through the full-length windows on that end of the room.

It’s not even ten a.m., but Minseok is already far too exhausted to do anything about that entire situation besides turn his back on it. He lifts pleading eyes to Yixing. “If you could make them some actual semi-nutritious food, I’d be grateful.”

“Wait a minute,” Kyungsoo says, shock having been overwritten with suspicion. “You think you pulled these guys out of your dream? The one with the laser battles?”

Minseok nods. “They’re the red guys. The ones being systematically slaughtered. Chënny has a broken leg and I couldn’t just leave them there to die, so I decided to take them home with me but I thought it would just be my dream-home, not that they would actually apparate in my actual bedroom.”

“How exactly did you manage to take them home with you?”

“I don’t  _ know, _ I mean, it was a lucid dream so I could do whatever I wanted, right? So I just decided to make a portal out of their shitty, collapsing bunker and into my flat, and I guess it actually worked for real?”

Kyungsoo blinks.

Minseok grimaces. “Look, I know exactly how crazy it sounds. I’ve been trying to wake myself up all morning because this must just still be a dream, right? I mean, the YouTube channel where I found the lucid-dreaming video doesn't even exist anymore, so maybe I dreamed that, too? But the hospital people totally saw them, and now you’re seeing them, and I pinched myself hard enough to bruise, see?” Minseok brandishes an abused forearm. “And they’re  _ still here _ so I mean, what the fuck else am I supposed to do with them? I can’t keep six guys in my little flat.”

“Two of them can live with me,” Yixing calls from the kitchenette, where he’s got two pots of water simmering on the hotplate and a curious Chanyeøl looming over his shoulder. “The guest room only has one bed, though, so they’d have to not mind sharing.”

His sentence isn’t even finished before Sehůn loudly calls dibs.

“Me! And Suhø-hyung. We sleep together anyway, and I’ve really missed our Lăy-hyung.”

Yixing tilts his head. “Who?”

“I mean, I know you’re a different clone and you don’t know us just like our new Min-hyung,” Sehůn continues, “but, well, I never thought I’d see his smile again and you wear it beautifully. So. I mean. Can we?” He deploys a rather awkward attempt at an aegyo face.

Minseok would expect Suhø to interject with some sort of opinion or pronouncement, but he’s been staring at Yixing since they entered the room, fighting off tears. Yixing is looking back and forth between the two, soft heart obviously crumbling at this emotional assault.

“I mean, sure, that’s why I offered,” he says, then smiles, dropping his gaze bashfully at Sehůn’s look of open adoration.

Then several things happen in quick succession, once again making Minseok doubt his state of wakefulness.

First, Chanyeøl shoots flames from his fingertips at the base of the heating pots, causing Yixing to yelp in alarm.

Consequently, the kitchenette's fire sprinkler system activates, causing everyone else to yelp at the sudden shower.

Then Suhø waves his hand, and the water spray reverses, flying upwards from clothing and surfaces back into the sprinklers and staying there.

And finally, Kyungsoo socks Minseok directly in the stomach, sending him to the floor with an undignified grunt and causing Chën to yell an objection.

“Soo,” Minseok wheezes, curling to cradle his midsection. “What the fuck, dude?”

“What the fuck is exactly what I’m wondering, hyung,” Kyungsoo huffs. “But now we can at least be sure that you aren’t the one dreaming, though I’m starting to wonder if I am instead.”

“I’ve never had my arm hairs singed off in a dream without waking up before,” Yixing volunteers from the kitchenette where he’s got both forearms under the running faucet.

“Sorry,” Chanyeøl says, looking entirely sheepish. “I just thought the pots would boil faster if they were warmer.”

“Dude. You shot flames. From your fingers? How, exactly?” Kyungsoo asks, striding over to grab Chanyeøl’s hands and inspect them.

Chanyeøl only shrugs. “I’ve always been able to. That’s the point of cloning us, right? To make an army of super-powered supersoldiers?”

“That… isn’t possible,” Kyungsoo states, prodding at Chanyeøl’s fingers. “And human cloning is illegal.”

Chanyeøl shrugs again. “I mean. It shouldn’t be possible for Min-hyung to make a gate thingie with his powers when teleportation is Kāi’s thing and not his, but it happened. It doesn’t seem possible for us to find more clones of our lost brothers on the other side of that gate, but you definitely are Diyø’s clone, or cloned from his same cell line, anyway. You don’t have his powers?”

“Nobody in the real world has powers.”

“Min-hyung has powers.”

“Not when I’m awake,” Minseok says. He tried to make more ice in the hospital waiting room, as another test of his conscious state.

“Well, we still have powers.” Chanyeøl turns back to Yixing. “Should I use them more gently on the pots, then?”

“No powers!” Yixing says, shaking his slightly-reddened arms dry. "Our world isn't set up for that." He looks at Sehůn and Suhø, eyes wide. “Are you gonna set my flat on fire?”

They shake their heads.

“My element is water?” Suhø says, gesturing up at the sprinklers.

“And I’m wind,” Sehůn adds, wiggling his fingers. A gentle breeze picks up despite the closed windows, seeming particularly focused on Yixing’s tender, damp forearms if his sigh of relief is any indication. “We won’t trash your place. But we could help out a little here and there, if you want.”

“Okay, fine, non-destructive powers are allowed.”

“Mine aren’t usually destructive unless I want them to be,” Chanyeøl whines. “I’m not Chën—mine are actually useful outside of fighting.”

“Hey!” 

Chën juts his lower lip out, and damnit if Minseok’s hyung-instincts aren’t entirely triggered again in a way that Suhø’s tears or Sehůn's attempt at aegyo hadn’t even touched. Minseok elects to haul himself up off the floor and  _ not _ go to Chën’s side, because  _ shit _ that’s probably not a good sign. He should probably coax Kyungsoo to take Chën along with someone else to live with him—getting involved with a guy who both depends on him for basically everything and thinks Minseok is the clone of his dead lover can’t possibly be at all healthy for either of them.

“You’re so much like our Diyø,” Chanyeøl says, still allowing Kyungsoo to turn his hands over and over. “Not just looks, but that take-no-shit personality. Shame you don’t have his powers, but if no one else has any here, I suppose you’re intimidating enough without them.”

“Flatter me all you want, but I’m absolutely not letting you live with me.”

“I’m staying with Min-hyung!” Chën calls.

“And I’m staying with Chën,” Baëkhyun adds. “This Min  _ probably  _ isn’t an evil clone spy, but I’m still not leaving my best friend alone with a sweet-faced stranger that he’s already whipped for.”

“Can I stay with you?” Kāi displays some proper, adorable aegyo in Kyungsoo’s direction. “I don’t want to be tripped over anymore, and Min-hyung mentioned you're the best cook of the three of you.”

Kyungsoo averts his gaze from Kāi’s jutting lower lip and glares at Minseok instead. “I am not getting roped into—”

“I’ll do your presentation for KyuCo,” Minseok offers. The ever-expanding law firm is an excellent client from a financial standpoint but an absolute nightmare for any of the architects to actually work with. They’re picky and opinionated and either dismiss or demand alterations to every proposal, from blueprints to interior wall finishings. Nobody likes being assigned to one of their projects, and Minseok had been openly grateful not to be tapped this time around.

Kyungsoo continues to glower at Minseok for a long moment, during which Kāi and Chanyeøl both shuffle around into his field of view, wearing puppy-dog faces. Scrunching his eyes closed, Kyungsoo sighs.

“You’ll do  _ all _ my KyuCo presentations,” he states. “And make the presentation boards. And nobody is using any powers in my flat—I don’t want my rent going up to cover damages. And somebody—not me—is buying those two looser pants. I am  _ not  _ surrounding myself with moose knuckle practically at eye-level, goddamn giants.”

“Fine,” Minseok says, swallowing a smile.

The agreement is echoed by the two now-elated refugees behind him, who are bouncing up and down while cupping hands over their too-visible junk.

#  ꧁﴾֎﴿꧂

The next morning is a weekend, which means that Minseok doesn't have to wake up as early. Except he does anyway, because his apartment smells like smoke. Which is particularly concerning, since Chanyeøl is supposed to be at Kyungsoo’s place.

He scrambles up from his makeshift bed on the sofa—Chën's injury means he can't very well take the sofa himself, nor share a bed with Baëkhyun since he's a "cuddly, kicky sleeper" per Chën, so Minseok had begrudgingly surrendered his bed while Baëk took over his guest room—and launches for his kitchen before his eyelids have properly unstuck themselves from each other. 

"What's burning? What are you doing?" he mumbles, hissing when his toes impact the leg of a dining chair that should definitely not be in the middle of the floor. 

"Making breakfast," Chën chirps from his perch on the counter, "except Baëk is better with knives than pots."

Minseok limps over to the stove, pulling an empty, smoking pot from the active burner and sliding the one full of already-soggy ramyun noodles over the heat.

"How did you manage to burn  _ nothing?" _ he asks the would-be chef.

Baëk shrugs, looking entirely unconcerned. "Yeøllie usually heats our food."

"Probably because he wants to live," Minseok grumbles, moving on autopilot to tidy up the disaster zone that was once his orderly kitchen. "You're supposed to boil the water first, then put the noodles in."

Baëkhyun shrugs again. "It was taking too long. ChënChën is really whiny when he's hungry."

"Just wake me up next time," Minseok sighs.

"I would have, but Chën's a dope and said you looked way too cute to disturb."

"I did not! I said he must be exhausted because he worked so hard to take care of us yesterday, so we should let him rest."

"'Because he's way too cute to look so stressed,'" Baëkhyun quotes in a whiny impersonation of Chën's voice.

"…I did say that, yes," Chën admits. "But it's true!"

"Okay, well, I'll be way more stressed if you burn the building down, so. Just. Go watch TV or something."

Chën curls a lip. "Why would we want to spy on anyone?"

Minseok blinks at him, hands full of damp drinkware. "What?"

"And why do you even have one? Are you actually working for the RF?"

"What?" Minseok sets the cups in the sink, wipes his hands on a dishtowel, then crosses the open floorplan to the coffee table. He grabs the remote and clicks the TV on, flipping through the channels from a drama to a football match to a cartoon. "The TV isn't for spying on people. It's entertainment. See? It's made up. Pretend."

"Those first ones were real."

Minseok flips back through. "This is a drama—they're actors, telling a story for people to watch. It's not their real lives. And this is a sports contest—it's their job to play this game against each other and see who wins. They know people are watching them, that's the whole point."

He turns back to the still suspicious-looking pair in his kitchen, looking rather like cartoon characters themselves with their oddly-colored eyes and brightly-colored pajamas. "This isn't a security feed. Those aren't generally in private homes. It's illegal to film people without their permission unless they're in a public place like a mall or museum or something, then there might be security cameras, or if someone's in a place they shouldn't be, like a security camera on private property to catch tresspassers."

The pair continue to give him narrowed eyes.

Minseok sighs. "Would you rather play video games instead? Control the action yourselves?"

At their blank looks, Minseok switches to his game system, starting up a cartoon racing game. He figures any sort of shooting or fighting wouldn't be a good idea, but this one is for young kids—the racers can't even hinder each other, just find little buffs for themselves sprinkled around the track.

He holds a controller in each hand, pushing both cars around randomly to demonstrate. And Baëkhyun is at Minseok’s side before he really sees him move. 

"So, I'm controlling the green one?"

"Yeah. This button is the brake, steer with the stick—right. There you go."

"I wanna do it!" Chën hops from the counter to grab his crutches and hobble over. "Can I be red?"

"Yeah, sure." Minseok switches out his car and hands the controller over once Chën has settled on the sofa. "There. Now just race and behave while I deal with this."

"And make food!" Chën calls.

"And order food," Minseok counters, already poking at the online app for delivery. "It'll be here in twenty minutes."

"Whoa, who's bringing it? Di—I mean, Kyungsoo?"

"No, he's probably got his hands full already. It's a restaurant."

"A what?"

"A business that makes food. It's their job to deliver it to customers."

"That can't be a real thing," Chën laughs. "You really just ask your communicator for food and someone brings it to you?"

Minseok nods. "I mean, I have to pay for it, but basically."

"Damn. Baëk, if we'd had that before."

Baëk snorts, leaning his whole body as he guides his car around a curve. "If people just came when we asked, we would have been begging them for way more than food."

"Min-hyung came, though," Chën says, voice suddenly somber. "Thanks for saving us."

"I couldn't leave you there to die. It was my dream, I felt responsible."

"Well, this must be our dream now," Chën laughs, entirely unbothered that Baëkhyun is repeatedly lapping him. "I mean, it's warm, we have a safe, comfy bunker—"

"It's a flat," Minseok corrects.

"—people treat injuries all fancy and clean, people bring food."

"Nobody’s chucked a grenade at us in two whole days," Baëkhyun adds.

"We even had proper showers."

"Clothes without blood or laser holes."

"It's really nice not to feel hunted."

"Yeah, well," Minseok demurs, because he didn't haul them through an imaginary-but-actually-working wormhole gate thing for the praise. It was just the right thing to do.

His lips twitch at his almost-reassembled kitchen. Well.  _ Mostly  _ the right thing. He hopes.

#  ꧁﴾֎﴿꧂

They meet Kyungsoo and Yixing at the mall that afternoon with their respective charges, so Minseok can buy the refugees some properly-fitting clothing (and reclaim that which he'd lent them initially—his loungewear drawer is completely empty). Yixing and his pair show up all smiles, one holding each of Yixing’s hands. And Kyungsoo shows up with  _ his _ pair strapped into teddy-bear-harness  _ leashes. _

"Really, Soo?" Minseok laughs. "I'm sure they're a handful, but leashes? People will get odd ideas."

"I don't care," Kyungsoo says, nylon straps caught in a firm fist. "It's just like having a pair of overgrown puppies, and if that’s what they act like—"

"Puppies?" Chanyeøl asks, standing on tiptoes to scan the crowd around them. "Where?"

"Ooh—in that window over there!"

There's a pair of flashes. When Minseok blinks his eyes into focus, Kyungsoo is scowling down at one empty harness and the singed end of the second leash.

Yixing bursts out laughing. "So much for 'no powers.'"

"He said no powers in his  _ flat _ ," Sehůn points out.

Minseok manages to hide his own smile once he's safely locked eyes on the runaway pair cooing over a pet shop display. "What even is Kāi’s power?"

"Teleportation," Chën chirps helpfully at his shoulder. "Only for himself, though, so don't bother asking him to carry me around. Um. What are puppies? Those little fluffy animals over there?"

"Basically," Minseok answers as Yixing and his evidently-angelic pair drift in the direction of the pet shop. "There are other kinds, too, but—"

"Are they good to eat or something?"

"Well, some people do eat them, but these days they're usually pets."

"Pets?"

"Companions. Friends." Minseok turns to Kyungsoo, who's still glaring at his ineffective control methods. "How did yours learn about puppies if this pair doesn't know?"

"Damn TV," he snarls. "They found a documentary—"

"A dog-cumentary?"

Kyungsoo’s glare lifts to sear Minseok. "Shut up with your terrible humor. It was about idols and their pets and I never should have let them watch it. Chanyeøl has been singing and fucking around with my keyboard all night after seeing the clips of the stars' performances, and Kāi has been choreographing dance routines."

"What's dance?" Chën asks when Minseok has stopped laughing (and being glared at further by his irate friend).

"Dancing is moving your body expressively, to music, to tell a story or create a mood or just show off, I guess," he tries to explain. "Something like this—"

When Minseok finishes his impromptu unaccompanied dance break, Baëkhyun and Chën are both gaping at him.

"That looks way more fun than fighting," Chën says.

Baëkhyun taps Chën's cast with a toe. "You'd be terrible at it."

"Shut up, I'll heal eventually. Then I'll be a dancing  _ machine." _

"Whatever." Baëkhyun tugs at the sleeve of Chën's (actually Minseok’s) hoodie. "Hurry up, I want to see these puppies before Kāi eats all of them."

Kāi indeed has one of the pet shop pups pressed to his mouth, but so far appears to just be nuzzling it, much to Minseok’s relief. He lags behind as his charges move off, gathering the empty harness from the floor and coiling it along with the leashes to tuck into Kyungsoo’s fist.

"Come on. Let's get some oversized pants to protect your poor eyes, then we'll let them all stuff themselves at a barbecue place. My treat, of course."

Kyungsoo perks up. "I will eat expensive meat on your tab until those two impressionable idiots have to carry me to the train station."

Minseok smiles. "See that you do. You'll evidently need your strength."

#  ꧁﴾֎﴿꧂

The taller trio look far more comfortable in their new appropriately-sized clothing, with Sehůn in particular being praised to the point of blushing by his appreciative flatmates. 

"We look nice, too, right, Kyungsoo?" Chanyeøl asks, mimicking a mannequin's model pose.

"Sure. Whatever. Please just stop using your powers in public, regardless of what color people are wearing."

"I said I was sorry!"

Minseok suppresses a smile as the nine of them squeeze into a barbecue booth meant for about six. The restaurant is busy on weekends, and the refugees hadn't wanted to be split into two tables, pouting about having to be separated at home after living on top of each other since they can remember. It must be a big adjustment for them, and Minseok is a sucker, so he told the hostess they'd make the too-small booth work.

"Sorry doesn’t unscorch a guy's sleeve, Chanyeøl, I thought you'd learned this lesson yesterday."

Even though Minseok had managed to ascertain that 'RF' stands for 'Red Force,' the refugees have a rather volatile aversion to certain shades of blue, namely the glowing electric blue of their enemy's laser fire and the muted blue-gray of their uniforms. Suhø had shorted out an arcade's flashing neon sign with a watery blast, and an unsuspecting shopper in a quilted gray coat had suffered the shock of his life when Chanyeøl had lept at him from behind a rack of tracksuits, hands ablaze.

In the first case, Sehůn had literally whisked his hyung away from the scene of the incident, suddenly appearing at Yixing’s sides with too-nonchalant postures that caused Minseok to investigate. When he'd located the kerfuffle, the arcade owner was yelling at the building manager about a faulty sprinkler system, so Minseok had elected to let old pipes take the blame.

The second overreaction was a bit harder to mitigate, but Yixing had pulled out the 'I'm a foreigner, I barely understand" act as Kyungsoo had hastily dragged a wincing Chanyeøl away by one oversized ear. Yixing had let the guy yell at him about his singed jacket, just blinking vacantly, twisting the angry man's words into bastardizations of what he was actually saying until the guy had finally gotten fed up and stormed off.

"Thanks for not contributing to the property damage," Minseok tells his own charges. 

Baekhyun shrugs. "Blinding people with flashes of bright light doesn't leave a mess," he says as he lays meat out on the grill.

Minseok frowns. "Did you do that to someone today?"

"If I did, it was only strong enough to be temporary and nobody knew it was me."

This is not at all a reassuring answer, but Minseok reasons he has no choice but to let it go.

"What even is your power, Chënny?" he asks as he adds side dishes to the injured man's plate. His arms are fine, of course, but Minseok can't stop himself from trying to earn one of those brilliant smiles.

But at the moment, Chën is wearing a rather lethal pout. "It's nothing useful. Just lightning. I mean, it was good to short out the electronic locks and fry the surveillance cameras in the RF lab so we could escape and the rifle Yeøllie made to focus it was cool, but it's not, like, generally practical like Baëk's lights or Kāi's teleporting."

"Much more lethal in battle than a bunch of flashbombs, though, ChënChën," Baëkhyun scoffs. 

Suddenly Minseok is entirely at peace with whatever may or may not have happened with Baëkhyun’s powers when he wasn't looking. 

"Yeah, well. It wasn't enough to save Xiümin, so."

Suhø reaches around Yixing to smack the back of Chën’s head. "Neither were any of the rest of our powers, you self-punishing dumbass. We were all there, and none of us could save him. We'd have needed Tāo or Lăy or Diyø, but of course they’d targeted them first to leave us vulnerable. How many times have I told you—they picked us off in a specific order because they know us, they  _ are _ us. It doesn't matter if their powers are much weaker because they have training and equipment we don't, that we refused to stick around long enough to learn. Xiümin-hyung made the same choice we all did—to face death rather than live as a soulless weapon. We all knew from the beginning that escape would likely result in annihilation."

"I'm so sorry," Minseok says, throat suddenly tight. "I saw you when there were still more of you, but it was just a dream to me—I'd have stepped in sooner if I knew you were… That you were—"

"It's okay, hyung," Sehůn says, stretching a long arm across the table to pat his shoulder. "You did what you could. We all did. The only blame for  _ any _ of our suffering is on the RF."

"Right," Suhø nods. "It's insanity to chase down all the what-ifs. None of us would even exist if they hadn't decided to fuck around with DNA and make superweapons. What if they never created Xiümin in the first place? What if he'd agreed to be their pampered pawn instead of rebelling with the rest of us? What if you'd had Lăy's powers? They'd just have killed you first, and Xiümin would still have died except without your arms around him. Is that what you would have wanted?"

Chën slowly shakes his head, eyes on his plate.

"I fucking miss him, too, ChënChën. He was my best friend and I'm so fucking sorry he's gone, so fucking sorry to have lost all our fallen brothers. But I'm not sorry they had the chance to die free, and neither were they. They would have been thrilled to know that any of us got the chance to be both free  _ and  _ safe, especially our dear mathyung. I intend to appreciate it six times as much, in honor of those who didn't get to." Suhø sets a piece of meat on Chën's plate. "Eat, and heal, and try to find a way to move forward."

"Sounds like a plan," Kāi says into the melancholy silence that follows. "I'll do my best to eat six times as much in honor of our brothers. Since I'm not allowed to just poof and get it myself, somebody pass me some chicken.  _ So _ much better than fucking squirrel."

This shakes loose a few watery chuckles. Chanyeøl uses his long arms to comply, and various threads of quiet conversation resume. Chën remains silent at Minseok’s side, but he does eat his meat and everything else anyone puts on his plate. He's pressed close anyway, given the overcrowded booth, but Minseok gives in to the urge to put a comforting arm around him, coating it with the reasoning that it actually makes a little more space in the booth if the two of them squeeze a bit tighter together.

Chën doesn't look at Minseok, but he does lean into the embrace, and Minseok calls himself twelve different types of fool for not strapping his heart into the equivalent of a leashed harness. Chën may be real, beside him, not just a dream, but any feelings he may have for Minseok are tangled with his memories of a dead man who shared his face. They will never be as solid and distinct as the body under Minseok’s arm, just a muddled dream of a lost love. Minseok deserves better than to be a stand-in, consolation prize. He does, and he's not going to let himself fall any further.

#  ꧁﴾֎﴿꧂

His resolve is tested that night when there's another storm. Minseok doesn’t dream of the snowy war-torn cityscape, but evidently Chën and Baëkhyun do. Not in a way that pulls them back into that nightmarish world, but in a way that has Minseok waking with a start to find two men standing over the sofa, staring down at him.

"Whazza matter?" Minseok slurs as he sits up, hoping that this pattern of waking to confusion for three days running isn't indicative of a long-term pattern.

"We, uh. Well. The thunder is really… loud?"

Minseok blinks twice before it clicks. His grandfather had been a Korean War vet, and had never really enjoyed thunderstorms or New Year's fireworks. He hadn't ever seemed upset, but he'd always preferred to be doing something engaging instead of letting the booming sounds take his mind somewhere he'd rather not remember too closely.

"Right," Minseok says. "Time for a blanket fort."

"A what?"

"You can't make any sort of effective defenses from blankets."

"Watch me," Minseok says.

He grins at the pair of puzzled scrunchy faces atop his sofa when he returns to the living room with every blanket in the flat. "Baëkhyun, will you bring the dining chairs, please? Yes—there and there should do nicely. Chënny, use the clothespins to secure the edges—good, just like that."

He continues to direct his architecture interns in proper blanket-fort construction, and before long the three of them are hunkered beneath a canopy of quilts, floor padded by a layer of fluffy sleeping bags. It's dark and close but also warm and quiet, the draped fabric helping to muffle the storm outside.

Chën is sitting in the middle, arranging their stash of crunchy snacks and bottled drinks within easy reach. Baëkhyun's protective instincts evidently trump his discomfort, because he's positioned himself not only between Chën and the door as he usually does, but between Chën and the closest window, now completely blocked from view by soft fabric walls. Minseok didn’t miss how he'd subtly herded the injured man to be bracketed between the two able-bodied ones, and he's not sure whether to be honored that Baëkhyun has evidently accepted him as co-protector of his best friend or disgruntled that he may well have company in the whole falling-for-a-guy-in-love-with-a-dead-man category. Except Minseok’s still determined not to fall. He will be the best damn platonic hyung the world has ever seen.

"Now what?" Baëkhyun asks once they're settled.

"Now, we watch movies," Minseok declares, setting up his laptop for the purpose. "You guys seem suspicious of live-action stuff, so let's try some cartoons. Definitely no Jafar, or Frozen… Ah, you liked the puppies—how about The Secret Life of Pets?"

Baëkhyun and Chën shrug, faces still quizzical around mouthfuls of squid chips. Minseok starts the movie, feeling the need to mention that the depicted events are entirely fictional, that dogs don't actually talk to each other when humans aren't around. 

Now the looks he's getting are rather scornful. 

"We're not dumb, hyung. We may not have seen pets before, but we know animals don't talk."

"Well, I thought people with superpowers weren't real until I met you," Minseok defends, gesturing to the ball of golden light Baëkhyun had casually released near the ceiling of their fort in defiance of all known laws of physics. "I just figured it's best not to assume what is or isn't the same between our, uh. Realities? Dimensions? Universes?"

More shrugging. "That's fair, I guess." Chën gives him a little smile that Minseok tries very hard not to think of as  _ fond. _ "How about we won't get offended when you explain simple things to us, and you won't get defensive if we tell you we already know?"

"Deal," Minseok agrees, accepting the bag of squid chips he's offered along with a distressingly-sweet smile.

They quickly become engrossed in the movie, murmuring the occasional exaggerated-reality-or-complete-fantasy question that Minseok is happy to answer. He's less happy with his choice of movie as he remembers more of the plot, wincing internally at the whole capture-and-escape theme. But he decides to let it play out, figuring Chën and Baëkhyun may be more distressed if Minseok cuts it off just as things are starting to get a bit dangerous for the furry protagonists. There's a happy ending to anticipate, at least.

What Minseok does not anticipate is how Baëkhyun and Chën gasp in unison as soon as the tiny gangster rabbit appears to liberate the captured critters.

"Minseok-hyung!" they declare in unison before dissolving into cackles at Minseok’s affront.

"I'm not a tiny bunny!" He protests.

"You totally are," Baëkhyun insists. "A badass bunny, with cute bunny teeth and big bunny eyes so no one expects the badassery."

"I think I'm more like a cat," Minseok says, but his fate is sealed as soon as the rabbit introduces himself as 'Snowball.'

"You're our Snowball!" Chën repeats through chuckles as he snuggles against Minseok’s shoulder. "You're so cute and you saved us when the bad humans tried to hurt us."

"Snowball is basically a bad guy, though," Minseok grumbles.

"Not to the Flushed Pets," Baëkhyun says. "He's their hero, taking care of them after they'd been mistreated."

Sudden unease clenches in Minseok’s belly. Of course the refugees would identify more with the abused and abandoned animals over the pampered protagonists. He really hopes this whole movie-watching thing doesn't backfire.

Thankfully, the pair take it well when the fierce little rabbit lets himself become domesticated. 

"Eh, he's still a badass in cute outfits, just like we are," Baëk declares, gesturing at his pastel pajamas. "We're happy for you to domesticate us, hyung."

"I'm not trying to tame you or anything," Minseok laughs.

"You kind of are," Chën says with a yawn, head heavy on Minseok’s shoulder. "You don't want us to break your nice stuff or blind people, we have to be peaceful to fit in to your world. But that’s okay—even if I never use my powers again, I'm still me. I'm happy not to need them."

As distressed as Minseok is at the warm, soft, too-endearing breath against his neck, he's not willing to disturb Chën if he's contentedly falling back to sleep even with the ongoing intermittent thunder. He's not sure if he's more or less distressed that Baëkhyun snuggles close to Chën’s back, the arm draped over Chën’s waist resting partly on Minseok’s midsection as well. But Chën hums low and contented, and there's nothing Minseok can do besides lay there and endure.

But he definitely decides it's better to have Baëkhyun there when he eventually rolls away from Chën's sleeping form and sits up, smiling down at Minseok apologetically. 

"I really am a kicker," he says in response to Minseok’s raised brow. "So I'll go back to my room and let you two cuddle in peace. Thanks for distracting us, hyung. I really am grateful you took us in, especially for Chënny's sake."

And before Minseok can ask what the hell Baëk means by that last part, the guy is gone along with Minseok’s laptop, his light globe winking out to leave Minseok staring blindly up into the dark.

#  ꧁﴾֎﴿꧂

However Minseok may or may not feel about whatever relationship the pair of best friends has with each other, it's still a boon to have Baëkhyun around, once he stops attempting to use various kitchen appliances without supervision or instruction. A few close calls involving the fire alarm (microwave popcorn) and the first aid kit (cheese grater) are worth Minseok not having to take care of Chën himself.

Baëkhyun is the one to help the injured man attend to various hygienic tasks, meaning the most skin Minseok ever sees is flashes of that tiny waist when Chën happens to stretch enough for his hoodie to ride up (still actually Minseok’s, despite having been provided with his own). And it's now Minseok sleeping in his guest room, Baëkhyun having decided that video games are engaging enough to occupy Minseok’s sofa almost around the clock.

"This is still way more comfortable than a pile of rags in a frozen bunker," he points out whenever Minseok protests he feels like a bad host. "Besides, if we're staying forever, are we really worth special treatment? It's your house, hyung, we're happy to share it at least equally."

Which makes an odd sort of sense, Minseok supposes, even as his mind shies away from imagining this pair in his space forever.

His mind also shies away from the memory of stumbling sleepily through his living room one morning, only to be brutally shoved into wakefulness by the realization that Baëkhyun had 1) discovered porn 2) was in the middle of taking care of himself on Minseok’s sofa.

"Please move back to the guest room," Minseok begs once he's consumed enough coffee to face the unashamed (and now very relaxed) occupant of his living room. "You'll have more privacy."

Baëkhyun shrugs. "I can sleep in there again once Chënny’s leg is better and you go back to your room."

Minseok nods, smile tentatively emerging. "Ah, right. He won't mind your kicking then."

Baëkhyun gives him an odd look. "You mean  _ your _ kicking. You're not doing any better at hiding your heart-face than he is."

"Heart-eyes," Minseok corrects absently—Baëkhyun had jumped headfirst into the internet and its associated culture ever since the stormy night he'd absconded with Minseok’s laptop (which he subsequently hasn't seen again without Baëkhyun’s face attached to the screen). "But no—I'm not gonna take advantage of him, I'm not a creep. I mean, yeah, he's entirely my type, but he doesn't actually have heart-eyes for  _ me— _ he's attached because I remind him of his lover. I can't compete with a dead man and it makes me feel gross to even think of trying. Besides, don't the two of you have something going on?"

Baekhyun shakes his head. "I mean, I love Chënny, but in a reflexive, secure, brothers-who-occasionally-trade-handjobs sort of way. I'm not  _ in _ love with him—we've never kissed or even wanted to, and half the time we annoy the fuck out of each other. He’s just always been there—my first memory aside from pain is of him, clinging to each other to ease the terror that the RF would come any moment and drag one of us away for more tests. He’s like a part of me, and getting off with him is barely different from doing it myself. We're way too close for there to be any sort of mystery or excitement between us. Now, Kyungsoo, I'd happily like to try out a few of the things in that video with, particularly the—"

_ "Okay, _ I do  _ not _ need you to finish that sentence," Minseok says, closing his eyes as if that would block the unwelcome images from his mind. "But isn't it weird that he looks like your other brother? Why isn't it the same with him as it is with Chën?"

"They may look alike, but that's the end of it. And not even as much these days, because Kyungsoo has his eager-to-please puppies trained well enough that he actually smiles now, something our Diyø never did. Our Xiümin, either—why do you think Chënny stares at you all the time?"

"'Cause he misses his lover?"

Baëkhyun shakes his head again. "Chën would definitely have welcomed it, but they weren't actually lovers. Our Xiü was too busy being mathyung to focus on any one of us exclusively, much less take any sort of comfort for himself. Once they killed our first leader, our Xiümin-hyung was all focused intensity all the time. You resembled him more strongly when we first met, but when you're relaxed, forehead unfurrowed, smiling so wide your eyes curve and your gums show? May as well be someone else entirely. Like how Kyungsoo goes from intimidating to adorable as soon as he unleashes that edible heart-shaped—"

"Still no need for details," Minseok interrupts. 

Baëkhyun’s grin is unrepentant. "Such a prude. What I'm saying is, Chënny isn't giving heart-eyes to the ghost of our Xiümin-hyung. He’s stupid whipped for the previously-unimaginable dream version of him that might have been, if we hadn't been created in an evil torture lab. Except you're real, arguably more real than our Xiümin ever got the chance to be, and you're right in front of him, smiling at him like he invented sunshine. You're gonna have to give him a firm no if you're not actually interested. Except you totally are interested, so stop making excuses and just kiss already."

Minseok snorts. "I don't work like that. I have to get to know someone first, have a few dates, make sure it's something deeper than simple attraction."

Baëkhyun rolls his eyes. "Are you sure those dramas are fake? 'Cause you sound like you think you're in one. You already know him—we've been living with you for a month. If you like each other, enjoy each other. Life's too fucking fragile not to grab what you want."

He wanders off in the direction of the shower, leaving Minseok frowning into his coffee mug.

Minseok transfers the frown to his phone when it chimes on the table next to him.

_ Hyung, the pups saw an ad for LotteWorld on TV and they won’t shut up about going. I'm not fool enough to take unleashable idiots to an amusement park alone so Yixing and his angels are coming too. We could take your glowworm with us if you want. I'm not sure there are any rides that will permit an injured rider, though, sorry. _

Minseok’s frown slowly curves into a smile. LotteWorld is a huge place, and while Chën may be disappointed to miss out on the rides, Minseok imagines he might enjoy the international restaurants, the illusion photo zone, and the aquarium tunnel—rather good spots for a date.

_ We'll all come along. Baëk would love to tag along with you, and Chën and I will keep ourselves busy. _

The reply is accompanied by a winking emoji.

_ Oh, I just bet you will. _

Minseok’s frown is back. Is he really so terrible at playing it cool? He'd always thought he had a decent poker face, but perhaps the effect is ruined by the dopey smile he's evidently incapable of keeping off his face when Chën is around.

Giving up at any effort at subtlety, he lets that smile unfurl as a sleep-rumpled Chën swings himself into the kitchen.

"How would you like to go somewhere fun and have hyung push you around in a rolling chair while you look at a bunch of interesting things and stuff your face with exotic food?"

He's rewarded with an achingly beautiful smile (from a guy who didn't just invent it but actually  _ is  _ the sun, as far as Minseok is concerned).

"Hyung, that sounds like a dream."

#  ꧁﴾֎﴿꧂

As Minseok anticipated, Baëkhyun is thrilled to be left with Kyungsoo and company while Minseok tucks Chën securely into a rented wheelchair and whisks him off to dote on him for hours. He still has reservations, of course, but Baëkhyun’s words had hit home. He doesn’t have to fear daily laser fire, but there are no guarantees in life. He could break his own heart pining over a guy he won't let himself have, or he could go for it. If he ends up with a broken heart anyway, well, he's no worse off than he otherwise would have been, but this way, he has a chance of a more enjoyable outcome.

And an excited Chën is very enjoyable indeed, fascinated by things Minseok has seen often enough to barely notice anymore. Watching Chën marvel at things like the way the cotton candy vendor collects the sugary floss out of the machine makes him remember the marvel of seeing it all for the first time himself. Minseok happily buys Chën anything that catches his attention, filling the large pouch on the back of the wheelchair with boxes of snacks and bags of souvenirs.

"We need to come back when my leg is better," Chën declares with icepop-stained lips.

"We will. There's a whole water park that'll be more fun in August when it's hotter."

"Water… park?"

Minseok smiles at Chën's adorably upturned eyebrows. "You'll love it," he promises. "And I'll take you to a bigger aquarium since you liked this one so much. And the planetarium, and the zoo. You deserve all the fun things in life, and I'd love to be the one to show them to you."

Chen furrows his brow. "Hyung, are you asking me out? This is like the dramas? I'm supposed to say I'd have fun doing anything nice as long as it's with you, and then we kiss?"

Minseok laughs. "Maybe? I mean, I think it's a bit early for the kissing part. But… I am rather suggesting that I'd be open to kissing happening eventually."

"Like… tomorrow?"

Minseok laughs again. "I was thinking a few weeks from now, maybe?"

"Too long," Chën declares. "Why wait?"

"Because I'm still worried that I'm just a replacement for the one you actually wish was here with you," Minseok confesses. "I mean. I believe you when you say you understand we're not the same, but my body is. And I'm afraid that if I share it with you right away, that's all I'll truly be to you—a warm stand-in for you to live out your dreams."

Chën turns to face Minseok more squarely on the bench they're sharing, odd eyes serious despite his cherry-red-smeared lips. "It's definitely been weird to get to know you when you're so similar to our Xiü and yet so different. You so easily became everyone's Min-hyung, because you do overlap with our Xiümin just like your names do. But you're not a replacement or a substitute, especially not to me—I genuinely like you, hyung, for all the ways you're exactly yourself. The way you play music and dance in the kitchen while we cook together, the way you seem totally fine with two chaotic guys in your house as long as we don't break your stuff, yet the toiletries in the shower rack are always in the exact same order whenever we go back in there, no matter how we left it the last time. The way you touch me, like you can't help it, like your arm just thinks it belongs around me regardless of what you're actually trying to be doing. All of that is only you, hyung— _ Seok- _ hyung. That's who I'm falling hard for."

Minseok, all his functional insides having been turned to useless goo, can only sit there and blink at Chën's endearingly upturned eyebrows. He's vaguely aware of his mouth spreading into that insuppressable dopey smile below his burning cheeks.

"Wow, ChënChën," Baëkhyun snorts from behind them, evidently having strolled up while they'd been engrossed in each other. "You  _ really  _ like all those romance dramas, huh?"

"Shut up, they have good OSTs," Chën mumbles. "I have to learn them to kick your ass on the karaoke machine, don't I?"

"You don't have to watch the entire episode to hear the OST."

Chën rolls his eyes. "Okay, fine, I like them. And I like Seokkie-hyung, and I'm going to scoot over there and kiss him now, so cover your eyes."

Baëkhyun does not cover his eyes, instead hooting obnoxious catcalls as Chën closes in to make good on his words. Minseok returns the embrace, pulling Chën closer with hands curving around his tiny waist like they’ve been itching to do for weeks. Chën's smile interlocks so perfectly with Minseok’s own, drawing out a sigh that carries a surprising amount of tension with it.

The tension returns when catcalls erupt from additional familiar voices as Chën's arms encircle Minseok’s shoulders. He almost breaks the kiss to growl at their teasing friends, but then Chën murmurs "my Seokkie-hyung" against his mouth, and Minseok can't even pretend to care about anything else except the man in his arms.

#  ꧁﴾֎﴿꧂

Minseok is jolted from sleep the following summer when the body on top of him suddenly flails. It's not a new thing, which is one of the reasons Minseok is willing to sleep in close contact with a man whose torso generates enough heat to rival the sun he often compares him to.

Thunder rumbles overhead as Minseok wraps Chën close, still half-asleep, the shuddering breaths against his neck a more-jarring counterpoint to the rain against the window.

"You're with me, ChënChën," Minseok murmurs sleepily. "I've got you. You're fine, we're all fine, and hyung is right here."

"Hyung." Chën's fingers curve up around Minseok's bicep. "Seok."

"That's right. Everything's fine. Go back to sleep."

"Felt so real."

"It's not, though," Minseok assures his still-trembling love. He can say this with certainty despite the storm raging outside. Not since he somehow gated six battered rebels from his dream has Minseok ever found himself in that snowy landscape, stormy night or not.

The thunder still reaches into Chën's sleep to mimic the ominous sounds of the battles that had ripped away his comrades one by one, and Minseok understands that it probably always will to some degree. He's happy to provide reassurance and stability under thunder-torn skies for the rest of their lives, awake or asleep, even if Chën's anxious sweat glues too-warm skin together uncomfortably. It's not too much to endure for his otherwise-sunny love.

"It's not real, and you're here with me. You're mine and I'm keeping you, so that nightmare can fuck right off."

This turns Chën's next tremor into a chuckle. "Thanks, hyung. I feel completely safe now that I know you're ready to fight my own subconscious for me."

Minseok’s not too sleepy to catch the note of sarcasm. "Shut up and sleep. Mock my protective instincts in the morning."

"I would never," Chën lies, because they both know that teasing his hyung is high on his list of entertaining pastimes. "Besides, what power does a nightmare have against such a dreamboat?"

"You're  _ my _ dream," Minseok insists as he rolls Chën's now-relaxed form into a more comfortable sleeping position. "My literal dream come true."

#  ꧁﴾֎﴿꧂


End file.
